Going On
by Thunderbolt Blast
Summary: Tadashi's death doesn't mean the world has stopped moving, but now, it might as well have for Hiro.


Since it seems I can't get enough of Big Hero 6 angst, here's a simple oneshot set during the time in between Tadashi's death and Baymax's reactivation.

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><p>When Tadashi's funeral had been held, the rain had been relentless. It had been gray and damp, cold, strong enough to descend to a thunderstorm when night had fallen.<p>

The lightning had cracked, the thunder had screamed through the house in bursts while Hiro had lain under the bedsheets, still in his suit, barely even blinking. Barely seeing, moving.

Maybe if he was poetic, he would've said the rain represented his tears and the thunder and lightning represented his anger, or something corny like that.

But he'd never been the poetic one. Tadashi had always been that, using it for either the best or worst moments, to cheer him up, to forget about a bad day. And now, Hiro couldn't—no, he _didn't—_want to remember them, because then his eyes would prickle and he would have to blink a lot, a million times until it went away.

He hadn't cried at the funeral, but only because his eyes had been too dry from wiping so many tears away beforehand. Hardly anyone had actually cried, and he hadn't asked why. Maybe for the same reason as him, or maybe they'd still been in shock, or they just couldn't. Or maybe they hadn't really cared. A lot of Tadashi's classmates had attended and he didn't know anyone outside of Tadashi's friends.

Their names slid in and out of his mind like water through hands. GoGo. Honey. Wasabi. Fred. They were nice, he knew that much. But of course they were, who else would've Tadashi befriended? A bunch of _nerds_, nice nerds. Like him. Stupid Tadashi.

Something forced its way out of his throat. Something like a laugh, but it was choked, and his nose started running again and he had to wipe it with his sleeve and wow, that was gross, wouldn't Wasabi have something to say about that?

They hadn't really cried, or broken down, but it didn't take a genius to see they weren't unaffected.

He knew Aunt Cass had been crying, however. She hadn't made a big deal of it at all, but her eyes were red-rimmed and sometimes she made a small noise, like a cough, or maybe a half-sob. But she'd tried to smile for him when she'd hugged him, when she'd spoken to Tadashi's friends, keeping her voice even but her eyes hollow with grief.

Even Mochi seemed to know what was going on. Sometimes Hiro found him by the door, as if waiting, or curled up on Tadashi's bed, and then Hiro would be overwhelmed by the urge to scream at the cat, that he was waiting for nothing because Tadashi wasn't _here_ anymore—but he couldn't. Everything inside him seemed to have dried up with the wetness in his eyes.

After everyone had left, with all their condolences, Aunt Cass had called upstairs that it was dinnertime. He hadn't answered. She'd called again, and again, and maybe a few more times, maybe going up the stairs herself, and maybe knocking on the door, but for nothing.

There was a plate of food left at the door anyway, and Hiro hadn't looked at it as it had cooled over, turning to what might as well have been inedible mush.

Now, the sunshine streamed in through the window. The sky was blue, streaked with clouds and endless in its light. In the streets below, Hiro could hear the daily traffic, the shouts and hubbub of pedestrians, the noisy bits of music played every hour.

But he heard it all dimly, as if from underwater. All of it felt as hazy as a dream. How could everyone keep going about their lives, like everything was as it had been when Tadashi had been breathing? How could he join them when his own had already fallen apart?

He didn't know, and he didn't want to.

Hiro still had the SFIT acceptance letter, right in his hands, but by now he'd read it and reread it so many times that he could recite the lines word for word without knowing what he was saying. Whatever was in the lines rang hollow.

Life would go on, Hiro knew. People would keep making their new inventions, and bringing their own ideas to life at the school. People would laugh, and smile, and joke and cry and yell out in San Fransokyo, out in the world.

While he would be here, not going back, not going forward. Just...here. In his bed, still in his suit, eyes still dry and unseeing, under the sheets and trying so, so hard not to look at the other half of the room.

Without Tadashi.


End file.
